


Fireflies

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cronus is moderately out of character, Kurloz is so out of character it's disgusting, M/M, Out of Character, Sadstuck, What Have I Done, i wrote this at 3am, so much, this is shitty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 11:17:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4099069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Cronus Ampora, and a certain Makara has taken to following you around, but you're not sure why. </p><p> </p><p>Just my first attempt at sadstuck, really. I hope you at least find something more than moderately mediocre about it, lovelies <3)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fireflies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HonkingHonkFriend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HonkingHonkFriend/gifts).



> For my friend's birthday.  
> I wrote for the sake of writing, just like you said.
> 
> This just so happens to be a late sun-rotation gift.
> 
> I hope you fucking cry.

Your name is Cronus Ampora, and a certain Makara has taken to following you around, but you're not sure why.  
At least four times a week, you find yourself being mimicked by the costume-clad troll, during conversations only, nothing else, he just stands behind you, silent as always, and copies your movements.  
You're a very animated talker, with your hands moving and making gestures, leaning your weight so your hip is jutting out, so at first you think he's mocking you. He mirrors it all perfectly, like he's made to do it, and at first, you think it's creepy and stalkerish, maybe he's even taunting you; that's what the smile on his face says. You try to ignore him, but recently, it's becoming increasingly difficult. If he wants to take the piss out of you, can't he just stand in front of you and do it, like a normal troll? If he's interested in you, he could just make it clear using more...Traditional methods. You're talking to Rufioh one day, and you just get sick of it, and you actually turn around to question him. 

"Hey, what's the big deal, Chief?! You just gonna follow me around like that for the rest of our afterlives or something? Seriously, you're creeping me out!" By this point, Rufioh has cringed and shuffled away from you slightly, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand awkwardly. He never did like confrontation, and gradually, he keeps backing away a little, and you wonder why, until you see the look on Kurloz's face.  
It's not anger, not fury or rage like his aspect, his eyes don't start glowing lucid electric purples, like you were anticipating. His lips are in an almost perfect line, slightly curved downward at the edges, one brow is raised the slightest bit in an almost questioning manner, almost tentative. 

/"I did not think it was a problem"/ he signs slowly, like you're stupid (that's how you interpret it, anyway), and at this point Rufioh has turned and fled, apparently guessing that shit is about to go down. Your bottom jaw falls slack as you stare at him, brows furrowing and soon lowering as you curve your lips back and snarl,  
"Not a problem? You think it's just normal to follow everyone around, huh? You got people thinking I'm some kinda creep, I don't need it when my quadrants are as vast and dry as a desert, not a drop a'red in sight!" You pause and draw in breath, not paying attention to how his eyelids have drooped down and his eyebrows are flattened, so he's sort of lazily almost squinting or grimacing, the quirked angles at either side of his stitched mouth are more obvious and predominant now, but you don't stop to pay attention. Just as you open your mouth, he almost shyly signs,  
/"I don't follow everyone...It's just you"/

You laugh cruelly at this, a cackle almost as disbelieving as The Condesce herself sounds when she's sarcastically giggling at some incompetent moron of a troll, and his face is hurt. You don't notice.  
"Just me, huh? What, you got something with me or somethin'? Am I just your favourite troll to take the piss out of, eh? You like seeing me alone and miserable, do you? Just want to fuck up my chances at a quadrant just because you fucked up everything you had with your matespirit?!" You've never dreamed of saying such horrible things to him, even without thinking, but more just pours from your widely parted lips as you scream at him, gradually getting louder. He flinches when you thrust out an arm to emphasise your speech, but you don't notice. 

"Makin' me look like some kinda joke, is that where you get your kicks, Makara? Well I get it; you're a fucking mime, now stop copying me! Go and bother that retard moirail of yours, how about? At least you've fucking GOT one!" He sniffs quietly, so discreet it's almost silent, as he brings a hand up to hover over the thick, black threads sealing his orifice, like he has a reason to cover his godforsaken mouth. You don't notice. 

"It wouldn't be so bad if you had a fucking reason, but you clearly don't, or else-"  
He signs something then, clumsy and broken, but you don't notice.  
/"I like it because-"/  
"Well I freaking don't, how about that? No one does, everyone thinks you're just some freakish weirdo who-"  
/"It's like-"/ he's more frantic now, fingers almost struggling to form the shapes and gestures he has come to know so well. He's shaking, but you don't notice.  
"I mean, what have I done to you, huh? What has ANYONE in these stupid bubbles ever done to you, Makara? Nothing, that's what! So you decide to-"

What he signs next shocks you.

/"Because it's like I can talk again"/

You're immediately silenced. What you do notice, then, is the little translucent indigo tears that are leaking from his lifeless eyes, slowly trickling down his high cheekbones and threatening to expose the soft, cool grey flesh under that sticky old paint he wares. Suddenly, you understand, and guilt stabs you like the arrow that pierced The Sufferer's skin; he's doing it because it's like he's got his voice again, like he can express himself properly. He likes following you because you're expressive, so he can play pretend and hope that you can let him just imagine that it's him forming the words for a little while. You realise then that his smile was nowhere even close to mocking; he was just happy because he didn't think you had a problem with it. You never objected to him until now, and you were doing it loudly and violently and irrationally and you never even noticed when he shielded his face with his arms when your voice reached the pinnacle of it's volume. You didn't notice when he sniffed and started crying, for God's sakes! 

His face shatters your dead, un-beating heart;  
His eyes are almost closed, clenched fists rubbing away at the tears that he can't seem to stop, his eyebrows are knitted together, low and upturned so he looks like he's in fucking /agony/, which he probably is, emotionally. The pierced flesh of his mouth isn't very pliable as it is, so he can't really express too many emotions in the first place, but of all the expressions he could be capable of making, why is he able to do something as heartbreaking as this? And you caused it, you fucking caused it. 

He pulls his hands away then, stops wiping at his wet eyes with his fists all balled up like a wriggler, so he was almost childlike. He's barely under 7 feet high without his horns and he looks so fucking tiny and broken, so frail and weak that if you so much as pushed him to the ground, his bones would crumble. His paint is all smeared on his cheeks and you can see the flushed purple flesh under the smudges, but somehow, he's so much more beautiful without it concealing him. 

/"I only did it to you because your voice is my favourite"/ 

You could fucking sob. You, Cronus Ampora, could drop to your knees and cry, weep like a Disney Princess, because you have been so /cruel/ to him, and all he wanted was you to remind him of back when it was all OK. As you actually think about what you'd screamed at him, how you'd ignored his flinches and the way he cowered, you realise that you must be truly heartless. He was asking you to make him feel better, to /let/ him be happy, and all you've done for him is the opposite. You didn't even have to make an effort, just go about your day and speak so he could just lose himself for a while, forget about what he couldn't do. 

/"I'm sorry"/

As he manages that, you bring yourself to look at him and actually contemplate how many little glistening beads of diluted purple are streaming down his face and streaking his paint until it's practically gone. Your jaw falls slack and, seeing no better solution and having no idea what else to do, you open your arms, wrap them around his shoulders, and cradle him to your chest. You couldn't care less about your shirt and him getting paint and whatever else all over it, right now you just want to make him fucking /smile/. 

"Jesus fuck, 'Loz, don't fucking apologise"  
He's hesitant to do anything as you hold him, seeming slightly shocked for the first maybe 3 seconds, before he hesitantly returns your embrace, hands shaking as he hides his face in the soft cotton of your tee. You move one of your hands to the back of his head and comb your fingers through his wild raven curls, not even trying to untangle any of the corkscrew stands. 

"Just don't goddamned cry anymore, baby, please"

You can tell he tries hard to obey you, making a small sound in his throat like recognition to some kind of command, and his hands attach to the fabric on the back of your shirt, and he clings to it like something will take you away if he doesn't. The way he shudders and sniffs as he nuzzles up to you makes you want to lock him up far away from everyone else and throw away the key. You're the one who hurt him, but he trusts you so much, even so. He trusts you not to make fun of him, after you laughed in his face. He trusts you to be gentle with him even after he cowered and shielded himself from your arms. You made him cry, and he lets you brush away his tears. He trusts you and he has no reason to. 

You feel something tracing across your chest then, and glance down to see him drawing out some kind of invisible pattern with his finger across the fabric. Only when you pay attention, do you notice that he's spelling something out. After a few calm, patient repetitions of the same word, those same three letters, you finally realise what he's spelling;  
Red.

All in capital characters, elegant and smooth, yet slow. Not slow like he thinks you're stupid, slow enough that you can think and acknowledge and /notice/. You don't say anything as you attempt to contain your firecracker excitement, and you move the hand that isn't stroking his hair to write the same word across his shoulder-blade. As you do, he tenses briefly, like he can't believe it, and soon leans back to look up at you, arms still wrapped around your frame and his fingers clasped onto your clothing. It takes a moment for either of you to actually react, but when one of you finally does, it's all worth it;

He looks up at you, eyes glistening, and smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> This is self indulgent shit, OK? I've been feeling depressed lately so I wrote this pile of crap. I know how terrible it is, but HonkingHonkFriend seemed to like it so I put it here. I've never written sadstuck before, but this is my OTP and I ship it redder than the sunset in Ibiza.


End file.
